I'm Trying
by TheSongbird341
Summary: She tries to be good; she tries to fix what's broken. But no matter how hard she tries, she can't seem to bring him back. She doesn't know how save him. / (Post-ESB; my final fanfiction. Read A/N at the end.)


******I'm Trying**

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_She tries to be good; she tries to fix what's broken. But no matter how hard she tries, she can't seem to bring him back. She doesn't know how save him._

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_DISCLAIMER: I don't own Star Wars, but I've got something else in mind._

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She woke up at the crack of dawn and went to work. No, not for the Alliance. On the Falcon.

Every day, for as long as she could steal away, she worked on repairs. Alone, now, but that was nothing considerable. She found herself alone much more often lately, without him here.

Chewbacca hung over her like a shadow, but she didn't mind. He had made Han a promise – transferred his life debt to her, and she certainly couldn't resent that. When she was needed early for a meeting or there was an emergency, he was the only one she would want to alert her whilst still dirtied and listless on the Falcon. He didn't notice if her hair wasn't done up yet, or if she wore the same shirt she did yesterday, because his hair was a mess and he didn't wear clothing at all. He even managed to keep Threepio away, and that was a blessing in itself.

Luke checked on her all the time; made sure she stopped working long enough to eat, and that she made it to her room at night. Sometimes he found her asleep already, curled up in the pilot's chair, and decided to let her stay. She didn't know this. She simply thought he would forget. Not that she minded, after all. That old chair was more comfortable than her own bed. But that wasn't why she stayed there.

It was hard to explain to others, so she kept it to herself. In plain words, she sat there, and she felt Han. She heard his hands turning knobs and pressing buttons. She could even smell him in the fabric. There were times that he felt so real, so alive and present, that she fell asleep and dreamed of him, kissing her maybe, holding her always. For a few hours, everything was okay, because he was there. For a few hours, she wasn't lonely anymore.

But when she woke, she wasn't in his arms. Confused, dazed, she soon came to the realization – as she did every morning – that he was gone. That it was her fault.

She usually slept in her clothes nowadays, with so much energy at work and so little at night, but on the off-chance that she didn't, she took little time dressing up. Alliance-issued garb – a little lighter wear on their new base, but just as ugly – with her hair pulled up in a messy ponytail, unstyled and still damp from her shower, because she couldn't much care. She would only be accompanied by herself in the morning, and perhaps Chewie, so she had no one to impress.

And under it all, one of Han's T-shirts. The reason why was lost to her by now, but she did it all the same. Maybe she just liked how big they all were. Perhaps she felt safer knowing that he was _almost_ there with her... And when he came back – he _would_ come back, after all – she imagined he'd wonder where all his shirts went. Depending on his attitude, and whatever "I know" was supposed to mean, explaining her answer would be tricky. She'd wait to worry about it for now.

With that, she took off before sunlight – sometimes in the middle of the night – and found the ship. Every time she entered, something new seemed to be broken... but at the same time, something else was fixed. She found comfort in this; knowing that she was doing something right. It lessened the guilt to some degree, as if every part of the Falcon she fixed was a part of Han she was healing. She didn't know why she felt this way. Maybe that childhood mindset of "If I'm good, everything will be okay" was still seared into her mind, but she didn't care. It felt nice to take something ruined beyond repair and put it back together again, piece by piece.

So she kept fixing, kept working, kept trying, until time caught up with her and she found her sense of duty tugging her away from the ship. She'd wait as long as she could before leaving, because in that solitude, in the quiet, she didn't feel quite so alone. When she would leave, walking into the crowds of people, feeling their piteous stares and hearing condolences after condolences – _he isn't dead, _she'd like to shout at all of them – she would feel empty, and the weight of her loneliness would begin again to crush her from the outside in. She hated it; she didn't want to go. But she did, because neglecting her duty was something Han would tell her to do, and Han was irresponsible. Irresponsible, but perfect at the same time.

Then her thoughts would go with him, and she'd think about everything he'd ever said and done, everything she'd said and done with him, and everything she wanted to say and do with him. He'd shroud her thoughts always, to the point that work was nearly impossible. She'd find herself staring into space, daydreaming, although they were nightmares more often than dreams. Someone would ask her if she was "okay", and she'd say yes, she was "okay". She wasn't good. She wasn't _happy_. But sure, she could be "okay" for a little while. At least until she got back to the ship. There, she could be "okay", or bad, or just terribly sad, and the walls wouldn't judge her, nor would the stars, nor would the whispers of the wind that were really due to the faulty air conditioning system she'd hesitated to go to work on. She could feel safe there, because that was where the pain could heal; and she of all people knew firsthand that a wound was going to bleed before it healed. Too many scars lived as evidence of that fact.

There were nights when she couldn't sleep; she'd wake from terrible nightmares, or never find herself resting at all, and need comfort. When she closed her eyes, she saw his face, lit by the orange glow, her reflection in the tears in his eyes. So close she could touch him, but just far enough to disappear into her false reality and leave her destitute in her woken state. Everything crashed down on her, and she'd panic... so she'd run. She'd run to the same place she always did.

In the dead of night, while every rebel slept in peace, she crept across the base, inching past the guards and into the Falcon. Within, it was so much more serene; no lights, no noises, no shouts or salutes from men outside. Only her and Han, or what should have been Han, or what felt like Han. Just the two of them again.

The cockpit was her sanctuary lately, and she faded into the peace of the two chairs, the night sky, until the world around her disappeared. Into Han's chair she fell, pulling her knees up to her chest and staring. Out the window, she searched for clarity in the thousands of stars; her mind was distracted by the constellations she spotted. Some were real, taught to her by her father when she was only toddling. Others were memories made by a younger, more wistful Solo.

She remembered it clearly, though it seemed like so long ago. One night, preparing to take off for Ord Mantell on mission, she and Han decided to take a break, it being late enough. They sat down: he in the pilot's chair, she behind him. Peering out into the sky, Han swept her up in a moment of intense wonder from utter boredom. He took one look at the stars, turned to her, and pointed: "See that?" She had no idea what he was talking about, so he explained that this was a constellation he'd made at a young age, his own "secret" set of stars. He told her all about the shapes he'd made of countless stars, pointing each one out to her... and although she wouldn't admit it at the time, she saw them, too. Each one ridiculous, but clearly there, as if they were real. Of course, they weren't, as the stars they'd seen then were certainly not the same stars he'd seen as a child. Yet, somehow, they were there, all the same.

She'd looked at it as a game back then, but now? Now, she saw them all. Each shape, each figure he'd traced that night, was clear as day before her very eyes. The imaginative beast he'd conjured up as a boy still reared its majestic head, and the blaster with two barrels still appeared to be firing off into the night. The two sisters dancing still leaped through the sky hand in hand, eyes sparkling like diamonds. And the eight stars that made the shape of a tiny flower still brought tears to her eyes: the Leia Rose, he'd named it on a whim. She didn't know where he got the idea that she cared for stars in her name; but something about petals and thorns brought her to childhood memories of the Alderaanian gardens... He couldn't have known that, though – it was only a lucky guess. He had a little too much luck sometimes; enough to make her think he actually knew a thing or two about her.

In all honesty, her memory of the time might have been biased. They'd both been a little tipsy that night, which was a large reason their conversation didn't end in screams and fusses. Whether for the part of his past he revealed or the part of the bottle she drained, that night marked the moment she'd begun to see him in a different light. The Leia Rose served as memory of the time, and had followed her through the galaxy ever since. She was still there. And she only hoped that one day, Han would look upon the stars again, and see her there, right where he left her. Maybe she could tell him what Leia couldn't.

Maybe, she could tell him that she loved the constellations, and every crazy little thing he'd shown her; and every mess he'd gotten her into only to surprise her with something new. She could tell him that she loved what he'd done to her life, and didn't regret a second, because for a little while, he'd made her believe again – he'd shown her the happier side to life that she thought had disappeared with her family and her world. He made her see that her work was not her life, but only a part of it, and that, when she could understand that, she would be able to make room for love. He stood by and watched her run herself in circles, trying to recover something she'd had years ago, trying to fill a void by doing the right thing every single time. He took the emotions she was afraid to feel and made her feel them, just to show her that they were nothing to fear at all. She wasn't afraid of them now. She knew how she felt.

She loved him. She could finally admit that she just loved him up and down and sideways and backwards and all around, because she did. She loved his cocky grin and his sarcastic remarks and the way he made everything seem so easy. She loved him because he was a scoundrel, and the best captain of the worst ship, and when he tried, the nicest man she'd ever come to know. He was the stranger that started calling her "sweetheart" and the only man who never had to ask her for a kiss. She'd hated him so much because she loved him _so much_, and now...

_Now he's gone.  
_  
That was what killed her every time. He was gone. The odds were against them – _never tell me the odds _– and it was becoming more and more likely that he wouldn't come back. She couldn't begin to comprehend that. What would she ever do without him? How _could _she do without him?

When the thoughts became too devastating, she pulled out and looked away from the stars. She shut her eyes, and she didn't think. She just heard his voice in her head again, whispering the same old things.

_You could use a good kiss!_  
_I sure could, right about now.  
_  
_You like me because I'm a scoundrel, and there aren't enough scoundrels in your life._  
_There aren't any in my life, Han. You were the only one.  
_  
_Look, don't worry. Everything will be fine; trust me._  
_I'm trying, Han. I'm trying._

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**_I'm trying. Aren't we all?_**

**_I have never been more proud of something I've posted than I am now. Three hours of tears and sad music turned into something beautiful, and I have to say, this is the only fanfiction to which I've become so attached. I hope this gets to other people the way it gets to me. It took a lot to put my own emotion into a character and their current situation, so this may mean more to me than anyone else. All the same, this piece became everything I wanted it to be, and there's nothing I would change._**

**_Part of the reason this has such a deep meaning for me is that this will be the last fanfiction I will ever post. It has been a wonderful experience and growth for me, and I have made many friends along the way. Unfortunately, this was only a holding place for me. I'm ready to use this growth and experience in my own writing._**_**  
**_

**_However, this has been a big part of my life, and I wanted to finish it off the right way. I felt that, since my original interest and first fanfiction on this account was about my all-time favorite couple, Han Solo and Leia Organa, this would also be the way to leave fanfiction behind. This couple carries many memories of my journey as a writer, and that is why there is no wry dialogue or deep romance in this piece. I wanted to strip it down, leave it raw, so that the emotions and underlying definition of exactly _what _they are could shine through. I hope that I've paid this couple, this fandom, and the heart of Han and Leia's relationship due homage, as this is my last time. Now, I move on to start a new chapter of my life, with new characters and less distraction._**

**_I have left an Author's Note on my profile page, so if you have any questions about my works-in-progress or simply wish to read anything else I've written, you know where to find me._**

**_Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate everything the readers and fellow writers of this website have given me: every encouragement, every laugh, and a place to go when I felt alone. Thank you for giving me a new appreciation of every character, a new light within to see the emotion and human nature of our world and its inhabitants, and mostly of all, a love for writing that I don't believe could come from anywhere else. I'm truly grateful for everything._**

**_Farewell for the last time._**

**_* *-TheSongbird341-* *_**

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_"I will bless the Lord at all times; His praise shall continually be in my mouth."  
- Psalm 34:1  
_


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